


These Therapy Sessions

by risentogether



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Bruce really needs better relationships, Daddy Kink, Non-con spanking, Paddling, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-01-30 05:35:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21423028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risentogether/pseuds/risentogether
Summary: Jerome Valeska is bored and misses his favorite billionaire toy. When Bruce gets called in to meet with Jerome, he’s expecting violence, but not in the way he gets it.
Relationships: Jerome Valeska/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 11
Kudos: 132





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hello! So, this idea’s been running through my head awhile. Please note: this involves non-con spanking of a young adult by another young adult! I’d love feedback and helpful criticism. Also, if you guys have story recs, please leave them!

It was a strange request, and it was one that had first gone ignored. However with some threatening, devising, and terrorizing, Jerome had gotten his way. He had agreed to seriously performing in group therapy, even, which would be significantly different to his usual behavior. He had agreed to minimum disruptions. All he wanted was weekly meetings with Bruce Wayne, in his cell, monitored by an Arkham guard. 

Bruce had also refused, but after hearing some of Jerome’s horrific threats on the city if he did not comply, he had agreed to a test visit. 

And so, he and Alfred walked through the gates of Arkham Asylum. They were greeted by guards and briefed on the situation. Bruce would be accompanied by an Arkham guard but Alfred was not allowed to go with him, as was Jerome’s wishes. Alfred had argued at first, but Bruce had finally agreed to it himself. “It’s only an hour, and I’ll be with the guards. I’ll be okay. Just wait for me.” 

And so, Bruce had followed the guards down the halls into maximum security, where Jerome was waiting. “What is it he wants?” Bruce asked, walking between two guards. 

“He didn’t specify. Just said he wanted to meet with you.” The guard was curt, and Bruce wondered if this was simply a trait of Arkham guards. As they approached the metal doors, the guards stopped him. “I’ll go in with you, and Officer Barton will stay out here to man the controls.” 

“All right.” Bruce frowned. Glancing between the guards, he could see no change in either of their faces. And yet, something felt wrong. “Let’s go.” 

When the doors opened, a puff of steam spilled out. Bruce grimaced and took a step back, but the guards seemed unbothered. The steam made it difficult to see inside, but the accompanying officer gestured for Bruce to enter and it seemed too late to back out now. And so, Bruce took another step forward and walked into the prison cell. 

The room was much different than what Bruce had imagined. Jerome’s room was larger than expected, first. There was a desk sitting against the wall, with a lamp desk adorning the top. Bruce could see what looked like a diary and a radio. On the wall, there was a rather disturbing set of paintings of clowns. The first clown was laughing, the second crying, and the third seemed to stare straight out of the painting and into the viewer’s soul. Jerome’s bed was neatly made, and there the ginger sat. 

He was different from how Bruce remembered. Jerome’s hair was cut short, shaved in an odd buzz cut in fact, and his face had been reattached. It was now scarred, his lips turned up in a permanent smile. Dark circles dipped beneath his eyes and Bruce wondered if that was because of his scarring or if he simply hadn’t slept. Staring at Jerome, the man seemed broader than he remembered. Bruce wondered if the man had been trying to become fit in Arkham. The Arkham uniform clung to him, and Bruce wasn’t sure what to think of it all. When he saw the billionaire, Bruce saw the clown grin. 

“Ah! Bruce! You’re here, five minutes early, too. I love when people are punctual.” His tone was jovial, but Bruce still felt unease as he watched the prisoner stand up with open arms. “Look at you! You get taller every day, huh? Might be taller than me one day.” 

“What do you want?” Bruce asked, skipping greetings. 

The clown clicked his tongue in disapproval. Pointing at him, Jerome wagged a finger at him. “Don’t tell me you’re still going through that ‘ rude teen ‘ phase. Manners, boy!” His words were met with a glare, and Jerome raised his eyebrows. “Mm. Marcus! Give me and Wayne the room, please.” He turned his attention to the silent guard. There was a moment of silence in which both the young men looked at the older guard, who glanced briefly at Bruce before looking at Jerome and giving a simple nod. Bruce watched with widening eyes as the guard, Marcus, stepped back and out of the cell. 

“Hang on a second. Wait! What are you do—“ 

Bruce dashed for the door, but saw it slammed shut in his face. The sound echoed through the room, mixed with Jerome’s slow, diabolical laughter. “Now that that bozo’s gone,” the ginger crooned, watching as Bruce began to try to open the door. It was locked. “C’mon, Bruce, you know it ain’t gonna budge. C’mere.” 

Bruce tugged at the door a moment longer and then gave it a hard kick when it made no move. Jerome watched in amusement as the young billionaire threw a fit against the door. “What the hell is this! What do you want?” Bruce snarled, spinning on Jerome who had yet to come closer to him. 

“I missed ya! C’mere! Can’t I have a hug? It’s been so long!” His arms spread out wide again, and Bruce scowled in response. He made no move towards the clown, and Jerome finally dropped his hands. “You really are a little brat, you know that? Sheesh. Well, come on and sit down, then.” Grumbling, the criminal grabbed his desk chair and yanked it out into the open. Bruce stayed where he was, which only seemed to annoy the clown further, though Jerome took a seat on his bed. 

“This was your plan, wasn’t it? You have the guards under your thumb. You knew I’d come if you talked enough, and now you have me here. Is this it? Are you going to kill me here?” Bruce’s voice shook with rage and disappointment. His fists balled. Was he going to die here? Before he’d ever even made a change in Gotham? It seemed unfair. It seemed downright stupid of him. Bruce wasn’t worthy to protect Gotham. He’d gotten conned so easily. 

Jerome gave a low, annoyed groan. His head lifted back and he sighed deeply. “No, no, no,” he murmured, sounding equally as disappointing. “Well, yes, at first. But now... Mm, plans change. You, my little conquistador, have given me an idea. Something a bit more fun than a murder. No, I have something else in mind.” Jerome grinned widely. Bruce didn’t like the look in his eye one bit. “Come over here, kiddo.” This time, the command sounded less than friendly. Bruce stared at Jerome in exasperation. Refusal is on his lips when Jerome added, “If your plan is to wait by the door the whole hour and escape, I can promise you Gotham’ll pay for it. Come on over, Bruce.”

The threat made Bruce sick. He was really going to die here, wasn’t he? Feeling sick to his stomach, Bruce began to walk his way to sudden peril. He stopped a foot short of Jerome, his fists tight, his gaze wary. Jerome seemed far too amused by it all. “There ya go, atta boy. You know me too well, Bruce! I thought to myself, what better way to get the brat here to slit his throat than to threaten the city he’d bleed for? But then I started thinking, why kill the brat? I can have all sorts of amusement just by—“ 

A hand snatched out, grabbing Bruce by the wrist. The boy began to yank free, but Jerome held tightly. “Ooh! Get over here!” 

It wasn’t what Bruce was expecting. He was struggling to get free in one moment and in the next he was lying across Jerome’s lap, face down. His face scrunched and he froze, surprised by the turn of events just enough to give Jerome the opportunity to pin his arms behind his back. “What—What are you doing?” Bruce asked, turning his head towards Jerome. 

Humming, Jerome tugged Bruce up against him to hold him tight. The billionaire gasped, squirming. “See, Brucie, I was thinking the other day about what a little brat you are. I kept thinking about all the snark, the back talk, the defiance, and I thought to myself, ‘ you know what he needs? ‘“ Jerome grabbed hold of Bruce’s pants and began to tug. “Bruce just needs a good ass warming to get himself in line!” 

Bruce had finally gotten the good sense to start squirming, but his kicking only seemed to aid Jerome in getting his trousers down. “But then it occurred to me: Bruce’s been pampered his whole damn life! I’d be surprised if he’s ever been spanked once. So, is it any wonder he’s so bratty and spoiled?” Next Jerome’s fingers hooked into the waistband of Bruce’s boxers, and the boy sucked in sharply. 

“Stop that. Let go of me! Jerome! Jerome, no!” Bruce winced when he felt the ginger yank his underwear to his knees. The cold air, courtesy of Arkham’s clinical atmosphere, hit his bare skin and Bruce shivered. “Stop! This is—You can’t do this. Let me go!” 

“Hush!” The tone was suddenly sharper than before and Bruce’s squirming was met with a hand smacking his bare ass. The billionaire jumped in surprise. “We got a whole hour, Brucie-Boo, before they’re expecting you to come out. Settle down now! Don’t make me find a belt.” The words are spoken with a harsh cackle and Bruce felt his ears turn hot as Jerome slapped him again. However, the criminal paused in order to giggle and lay his hand on the soft skin of Bruce’s backside. “Look at you! Look at this cute little bottom!” Jerome gave the boy a pinch on the rear and watched happily as Bruce’s ears turned even more red than before. 

“Let me up! This is ridiculous, Jerome, just let me up.” Bruce huffed in agitation and wiggled in frustration. No, this was not what Bruce was expecting at all. And somehow the whole scenario seemed much more demeaning than being killed. 

His words were met with another slap across the bottom. Bruce jumped once again and squirmed. He didn’t remember Jerome punching so hard, so why did this feel worse? Another smack, and then another, and Bruce swore under his breath as he tried to climb off Jerome’s lap. “Ah ah ah,” the clown taunted, tightening his grip and increasing the severity of the swats, “you stay still, young man. You’re in for a long trip across my knee!” The words were spoken in a mocking, authoritative tone, deeper than Jerome’s usual voice. Bruce groaned, hips bucking in an attempt to push his hips away from Jerome’s attacking hand. “Oh no you don’t! Stay still for daddy,” Jerome teased, voice sickly sweet. 

“Shut up! Shut up,” Bruce hissed, hips jerking. Jerome gave a quiet grunt and lifted his hand, slapping harder than before. It hurt. It hurt! It stung worse than Bruce could have imagined. Jerome spanked him in one spot for several seconds before moving to the next, skin heating up with every smack. “Let go of me! Let go!” 

“Oh, no, no, no,” Jerome sang, making his voice sound as though he were talking to a small child. “No, Brucie, you don’t get to decide when you stand. We have a lot to work with right now. You lie still. We got a long session ahead of us! Hope you don’t have any of those board meetings tomorrow,” Jerome snickered, “you’re not going to want to sit down.” 

It was torturous work. Bruce had never been spanked before. His parents simply hadn’t, and though Bruce thought that maybe Alfred had thought about it before, his place as Alfred’s employer protected him from it. The idea had always seemed trivial to him. In a way, Bruce had simply underestimated how badly a few well placed slaps to the ass could hurt. Jerome seemed to know exactly what he was doing and how to make it hurt as much as possible. Bruce squirmed, kicked, swore at Jerome, and groaned when his yelling got him harsher slaps. The spanking had gone on for several minutes and it was beginning to tire Bruce out just by fighting. 

Jerome paused to survey his handiwork. Bruce’s behind had begun as pale and had slowly changed from pink to bright red. Bruce’s struggling had changed its course as well. His squirming had become less defiant and more desperate. Jerome knew that was a sign that the brat was going to break soon. Which simply meant that Bruce was about to meet the next portion of his punishment! 

“All right, Brucie-Boo. What do we think so far, hmm?” 

The question was met with a shaky huff. Jerome smiled. Little brat. 

A hard slap gained a squeak from Bruce. The teen squirmed on Jerome’s lap, causing the criminal to snicker. His hand rested on Bruce’s ass and the boy tensed, fidgeting uncontrollably. “Come on, boy, speak up!” When no response was given again, Jerome heaved a dramatic sigh. Giving Bruce’s ass a firm pat, Jerome reached down and began to pull Bruce’s pants and boxers the rest of the way off. “All right then! In that case—“ 

“Hey! What—What are you doing?” Bruce tried his best to look behind him at Jerome. It gave Jerome a second to take in his work; Bruce’s face was red from struggling and embarrassment, but Jerome was pleasantly surprised to see no tears had begun to fall yet. “Stop!” 

“You, my boy, could use a time out. All this... excitement making it hard to think? Then a little quiet time in the corner will do you a world of good! Come on, up you go!” Setting the discarded clothes aside, Jerome lifted Bruce up with ease and quickly snagged hold of his ear. Giving Bruce little time for argument, the ginger dragged the billionaire by his ear to the corner on the far side of the room. A little push left Bruce facing the corner. 

It took Bruce exactly three seconds to see red in his rage. To be reduced to this! A petulant child being spanked and stuck in a corner! And by this clown, especially! Bruce spun on Jerome with fury in his eyes. “This is stupid! Stop treating me like—“ Wordless and nonchalant, Jerome grabbed the boy by the shoulder and spun him back around to face his corner. His casual behavior only seemed to anger Bruce all the more and he swung around again. “Jerome! Stop, I’m not—“ Just as easily as the first, this time with a tut, Jerome pushed Bruce back into the corner. Bruce felt himself grow blind with rage. “I said stop it!” He spun, eager to hit Jerome, but before he could he was yanked back around to face the corner of the room. This time, Jerome held onto his shoulder with one hand, and with his free hand, he began laying slaps down on Bruce’s exposed bottom again. 

“I—“ Smack! “told—“ Smack! “you—“ Smack! “it was time—“ Smack! “for time out!” Smack! Smack! Smack! 

Bruce yelped and writhed through Jerome’s onslaught. The break he’d had only seemed to make the next few hurt even worse. When Jerome was satisfied, he gave a light push that pressed Bruce’s nose into the corner. “Now, you stand right there and contemplate what we’ve been going over. I don’t want to see you moving again!” 

And with that, Jerome strode away from Bruce. The teen heard the creak of his bed as he sat back down, and Bruce burned with humiliation. 

How had this happened to him? And why was it happening? What did Jerome want from Bruce? Why was he doing this to him? Why wasn’t he just killing him? And did he intend to kill him at the end of the hour? The seconds went by excruciatingly slow. The sting on his skin was making it impossible to sit still, and so Bruce fidgeted on occasion, each time earning a warning from Jerome that if he didn’t stop, he was going to have to go back over his knee sooner than expected. The warnings burned just as badly as the sensitive skin. 

Bruce reckoned it had been fifteen minutes when he heard Jerome say, quite calmly, “Okay, Bruce. Come back over here.” 

The boy turned hesitantly to see Jerome waiting on the bed, sitting upright and with a false stern face that made Bruce want to punch it back off. “What the hell is this about, Jerome? If you want to kill me, then do it. Just stop with the games.” Bruce stormed towards him, indignant of the entire situation and being very careful to keep his shirt pulled down low. Jerome’s eyes gleamed with amusement as the teen made his way over. “Give me back my clothes.” 

“You don’t need them yet,” replied the clown, just as casually as before. “Come on. We weren’t done before, Brucie. Break time’s over and we still got time.” Jerome patted his knee expectantly and Bruce fumed. 

“No! Tell me what’s going on!” 

An exaggerated groan crawled out of the clown’s ragged throat and he threw his head back in frustration. A cruel glare shot Bruce’s way. “You want a reason? Here’s the reason, Brucie: I’m bored.” The words were spoken with such a cruel smirk that Bruce felt his stomach twist. “I’m locked up here all by myself and you’re the little brat that stalled long enough that it happened. I wanted something to do. I needed something to hurt. A new toy, you might say. And you, my little hero, you’ve been my favorite toy of all.” The words came out eerie and Bruce felt himself shiver. “So, come back over here and accept your spanking like a good boy, or I’ll get you myself.” 

The clown waited with that same expectant glare on his face, but Bruce was not through talking. “You won’t get away with this. If you let me go, I’ll never come back again,” he said, voice colder than before. 

This earned a laugh from the criminal. “Oh, you will. And I’ll tell you why, too. But not yet. Right now we have about twenty minutes left and I still have a ways to go before I’m satisfied. Get over here!” 

Without waiting, the ginger grabbed Bruce by the arm once more. It was hardly a struggle; Bruce was subdued with ease, given his tense posture, and found himself staring at the floor and Jerome’s shiny, white shoes. His ass was once more in perfect line of fire, to which Jerome spent no time dawdling. He easily picked up his pace once more, as if he’d never stopped. 

It seemed to burn even more now. Bruce immediately was reduced to groans and yelps as he flailed across the clown’s thighs. Jerome paid him little heed. “There we go! Isn’t this better? I’ll tell you, Brucie, you look good this way. Bent over my knee like the spoiled little brat you are, we should’ve done this earlier. I wish I’d thought to take you to task on our carnival date. The boys would’ve gotten a hoot out of you! Hush, now, be still!” Jerome’s grip on Bruce’s wrists, currently held to his back, tightened dramatically. Bruce gave a cry of frustration. Did Jerome say they had twenty minutes to go? Surely he didn’t mean it! It felt like he’d been in the cell for an eternity! 

“Jerome, ow! Ow, stop! Okay! Okay, I— Ouch!” Bruce’s voice had begun to shake. This hurt. This hurt too much! His bottom lip was bitten to stop from trembling. “Let me go, Jerome! This is— Ow!” The words were met with cackling. 

“What’s that, boy? Oh, I almost forgot. Ooh, you’re not going to like this one bit.” 

Bruce felt his face scrunch in confusion. He was about to turn around to see what Jerome was doing now, but he didn’t need to. He felt Jerome lift his knee, which in turn lifted Bruce’s bottom further into the air. Jerome began to slap relentlessly just beneath the curve of his ass where the skin was soft and tender. Within a few, Bruce’s grunts and groans had become sharp, yelping cries of pain and protest. The boy kicked his legs desperately, swung his body to try and break free, and cried out helplessly when these didn’t work. “Ow! Stop! Stop! Stop! That— Ouch, it hurts!” 

His voice had gotten high in his fright, much to Bruce’s embarrassment. He was beginning to think he’d rather Jerome staple his arm again. Jerome kept up his pace for a few moments longer, paying special attention to Bruce’s thighs and under curve, before he paused. 

Bruce sank when Jerome stopped. He was breathing heavily now. Tears had begun to shine in his eyes and cling to his eyelashes. His face was red from shouting and his throat was sore. However, nothing hurt worse than the skin Jerome was currently smoothing over with a hand. “Look at that. Baby Brucie, all wound up over a spanking. You really haven’t had an ass beating before then, huh? Figures. I’ll tell you, parents today should be firm with their kids! We’ll be repeating this process next Wednesday, I believe.” The ginger gave Bruce’s behind another pat, and though it seemed to be faux comfort, it still stung. 

“Will you— Will you let me up now?” Bruce asked, voice quaking with every word. He was trembling, body tense and stressed, and he wanted desperately to go home. 

The clown snorted. Still holding Bruce, Jerome leaned forward and began to dig under his mattress. Bruce frowned, watching in confusion and uncertainty. “Not quite, my little conquistador. We’re almost done, but before we end today’s therapy session, I have one more... Ah! There it is.” 

In a swift motion, Jerome pulled the item from beneath his mattress. Bruce caught sight of it and his heart dropped. It was a long, wooden ladle, the kind Bruce had seen Alfred use to stir big kettles of soup. The teen began to wiggle as Jerome experimentally tapped it against Bruce’s bottom. “No! No, no, no! Don’t, Jerome! I mean it!” 

Another sharp giggle erupted from the criminal. He gave a little coo of mock sympathy, teasingly patting Bruce’s ass with the wooden instrument once again. “Or what, baby boy?” he teased, jogging his knee to give Bruce a little bounce. “I know, I know. You don’t like it. You don’t want anymore. But,” Jerome slipped the ladle into his other hand which served to hold Bruce down and used his newly freed one to pet his dark hair, “this is all for your own good. You just be still and let daddy finish up now.” The words ended in another mean giggle as Jerome swapped hands once again. He gave another tap. “Ready?” 

Bruce felt fresh tears welling up in his eyes at the mere thought, at the degrading of it all! He sniffed and squirmed, speaking a quiet little, “no!” as Jerome lifted the spoon and mockingly pretended to aim, laying the ladle against his bottom to test. 

The first whack was resounding. Bruce was certain the guards outside could hear what was going on. It echoed in his own ears, bounced off the walls, and came back around just in time for the second equally as loud whack. Bruce yelled both times. Jerome began his assault once more, swapping between Bruce’s left and right cheek with ease and ignoring Bruce’s instant cries of protest. This was worse than the hand spanking. This was agony. Bruce threw his legs upwards and tried to throw himself forward. When that didn’t work, he tried to go backwards. When neither worked, he tried to roll. And when that didn’t work, Jerome increased the severity for the petulance. 

Bruce thrashed against his legs. Resolve easily was broken, and unadulterated wails of pain fell from Bruce’s lips as tears overflowed. Jerome kept up his one-two rhythm with ease, now and then yelling words of false sympathy over Bruce’s cries. “That’s it, sweet boy!” and “You’re almost done!” 

After a few minutes of the onslaught, Jerome paused. “And now,” he chimed, lifting his knee up once again to turn Bruce’s ass up into the air. 

Bruce’s eyes widened in horror. “No! No! Please!” 

The plea was met with another hard crack against delicate skin. Bruce wailed. More pleas fell from his lips as Jerome went to spanking him, making sure nothing was left a shade shy of crimson. When Jerome was pleased with the shade and certain Bruce would feel the ache long into the day and the next, he halted his attacks and casually dropped the ladle onto the bed. His hand, now feeling cool against Bruce’s hot skin, began to gently pat Bruce’s bottom. “There we go. Isn’t that better? Atta boy.” Bruce could hardly hear him over his own weeping. He had buried his face into Jerome’s bed to muffle his sobs. Jerome let him lie there for several minutes this way and continued to tap the teen’s bottom while Bruce cried against the mattress, until finally Jerome cleared his throat. “Bruce? Brucie?” He gave his knees another jog in an attempt to gain the billionaire’s attention. “Are you listening to me, Bruce?” 

With some effort, the boy nodded his head and whimpered a, “Yes.” 

Jerome grinned, pleased with himself. “You’re going to come back next week, same day, same time. Understand? I expect you here on the dot.” When Bruce gave no answer, Jerome gave an especially firm tap that sent the boy squirming again. “You’re going to come back and we’re going to have another session, just like this one. Are we clear?” The boy murmured something into the blankets, and though Jerome only half understood him, he clarified, “You’re going to come back because if you don’t, I really will let people die. And you wouldn’t let that happen, would you, Bruce? You wouldn’t let people die just over a spanking?” He ruffled Bruce’s hair. “So, next Wednesday, you’re going to come back in. Save the date. Don’t you dare be late, either, Brucie.” 

So saying, Jerome placed his hands on Bruce’s hips and lifted him off his lap. The boy stood with effort. He wobbled, and his fingers instinctively curled up in the blanket to hold himself upright. Jerome took in Gotham’s golden boy with delight: hair was a mess, face was tear stained and ruddy, eyes were glassy. Jerome could have kept him, stared at him for hours. But ah, the hour was almost up. 

“I’m going to knock on the door now, and those nice guards are going to take you to get your face washed up so the butler doesn’t know. Go on, put your pants on. Hop to it.” 

Bruce was quick to dress, the entire time staring towards the floor as he did so. He didn’t look up when Jerome knocked and called for the guard. He didn’t look up when the two officers entered the room, or even when Jerome ruffled his hair again and gave him a playful smack to the rear as he walked out. He didn’t look at the guards as they escorted him down the halls. He hardly looked at his own face in the reflection as he washed up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are with the second chapter! Thanks for everyone who left a kudos. I’d love some input on the story, so please, if you like it, leave a comment! What are some things you’d like to see? Your ideas may be incorporated!

The next seven days had been hell. Bruce had thought tirelessly about how he was going to get out of his next session with Jerome. For the first two days, his bottom had been sore, and Bruce had had to make excuses for his squirming whenever Alfred asked. By the third day, the burn had finally eased, but Bruce still couldn’t stop thinking about Jerome. The maniac expected him to come back and take another beating lying down, so to speak, and Bruce wanted nothing to do with it! He needed to find some way to get out of these meetings. His pride couldn’t handle another! 

Bruce doubted that Jerome would hear reason. Perhaps, though, if Bruce could get Jerome talking, he could stall him well enough. After all, Jerome so easily had been fooled into prolonging violence before, just by talking. Maybe the same could be done now. 

He played the scenario in his head several times before he came to a decision. He would get Jerome talking. He had to distract him somehow. 

When the next Wednesday came, Bruce showed up to Arkham Asylum at exactly 12:45, leaving him enough time to spare. He supposed it would be foolish to show up late, as Jerome had said. He went with the guards without fuss just as he had the first time, but now his nerves were wrought. Bruce knew what was waiting on the other end of the metal door, and he knew once he went in, he would be trapped for the hour. 

The guards escorted him inside, but quickly backed out and shut the boy inside just as they had done before. Bruce watched them go with dread and turned to face his fate, which was sitting at his desk, scribbling away on the diary. The radio was broadcasting a baseball game. 

After the door had shut, Jerome paused in writing to set down his pencil and spin in his chair. His arms lifted in greeting. “Brucie! Look at you, right on time. Good boy.” The gleam in Jerome’s eyes was a sleazy one, and it made Bruce want to writhe and flee. “Come on in. You all right? You look a little paler than usual.” 

At that moment, Bruce felt very much like a child staring into the face of a monster. It made him feel small and weak, something he had always despised. He felt powerless under Jerome’s scrutinizing gaze and he wanted to run away. However, Bruce knew the door was locked and that the men would not let him out until Jerome allowed it. And so, it would be best now to try to talk to the man. 

“You—You keep a journal?” Bruce asked, cursing himself for stuttering. He watched the criminal with some hesitance. Jerome squinted at him, curious, but after a moment he seemed to give in. 

“They seem to think it’ll help me get my thoughts in order!” Jerome chimed. He stood up from his chair and walked with slow, deliberate movements to his bed. Bruce watched him like a hawk as he sat down and stared at Bruce expectantly, one brow cocked, hands resting on his knees. 

“Does it work?” Bruce asked, trying to ignore the very obvious look on Jerome’s face. “Help with your thoughts, I mean.” 

“It gives me somewhere to put them all,” Jerome drawled, tone low and eyes following Bruce as a cat would a bird. There was an eeriness to his voice, as though he had something more that he was leaving unsaid. His eyes never left Bruce’s body. “Now, enough chatter. C’mere, Bruce.” 

The short command left Bruce feeling dizzy. Jerome obviously wasn’t taking the bait, so Bruce decided to try again in a different vein. “Why are you doing this? You must have something you’d rather be doing. From what I can gather, everyone here is under your thumb. What’s keeping you from walking out then?” 

Jerome’s shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. His head tilted, face wearing the same annoyed and yet somehow condescending expression of before. He looked bored. “Why would I want to leave? I have everything I could want right here. People do as I say, I get to toy around with the loonies, and now... I got you. And I like having you here. I like seeing you cry. I like hearing you beg me. I really like watching you squirm. Now, stop wasting time and get over here right now.” The last words came out in a snarl and Bruce took a half step back. 

A flare of defiance crept into Bruce’s chest. It made him stiff, stuck to the ground, and he shot Jerome a hateful look. “No. I’m not doing what you say.” 

Jerome’s eyes widened slowly. He seemed to be contemplating something, and after several seconds, he smiled. “Mm. Stubborn, eh? All right, baby boy. I’ll bite. More fun for me!” Saying so, Jerome heaved himself to his feet and began long strides towards Bruce. The billionaire felt his stomach leap and he took several steps back. 

“No! Stay away from me! Get away!” Jerome had no sooner approached that Bruce swung at him. Jerome ducked with a cackle and ran at Bruce, crouched so that his arms wrapped around Bruce’s torso and then he lifted, tossing the teen over his shoulder. Bruce shouted and began pounding his fists against Jerome’s back. “No! Put me down! Jerome, put me down! Damn it!” 

A sharp cackle spilled from Jerome’s lips. “Is my boy throwing a tantrum? Oh, that’s behavior worthy of a hard spanking if I ever saw one. Let’s go.” Spinning on his heel, he made his way back to the bed, arm wrapped around Bruce’s knees while his free hand rested teasingly on Bruce’s backside. Jerome set Bruce on his feet, moving his grip to the teen’s arms as he sat himself down and pulled Bruce to lie down over his legs. 

A string of curses fell from Bruce’s lips and he thrashed from under Jerome’s grip. He felt fingers beginning to dig into his waistband. “Stop! Stop it! Let me up!” A sharp yelp spilled from parted lips as he felt sudden cold air on bared skin. “Jerome, this is stupid. Let me up and we’ll discuss—“ 

A hard smack on the ass caused Bruce’s sentence to break off into a yelp. It was quickly followed by two more, which caused Bruce to writhe across Jerome’s thighs. “That’s enough of that,” taunted the criminal, once more using that authoritative tone. “A week of mischief and a tantrum to go with it? Bruce, my boy, you are in desperate need of a spanking, I’d say!” The words sounded pleased. Jerome was obviously enjoying the fact that he now had a “reason” to give Bruce a spanking. Smacking him again, he crooned, “Stop that wiggling, baby boy. You’re stuck!” 

After a few moments of Bruce struggling and Jerome spanking, Bruce let out a frustrated shout. In true childish nature, the boy kicked his legs hard in an attempt to stop Jerome’s tireless work. He screamed, cursed, and fought, all while Jerome held him down by the small of his back. It was not like Bruce Wayne to get so overworked over something so trivial, but his frustration had led to the fit. As much as he loathed to think so, it was very akin to a tantrum. 

And Jerome seemed to agree. The ginger laughed heartily and slapped Bruce hard on the bottom, taking care to smack a single spot several times until Bruce began to jolt and jump from the sting. “That’s my boy!” the criminal declared, moving to the spot just beneath where he had been earlier, “My sweet, bratty baby! Daddy’s going to fix you right up. You’ll think twice before throwing another fit on me. A sore ass will be a nice reminder!” He laughed as Bruce swore at him, feet drumming on the end of the bed as he kicked violently through Jerome’s onslaught of attacks. 

“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Fuck, Jerome!” The teen’s back arched as Jerome picked up his tempo with glee. A high pitched giggle crawled from mutilated lips at Bruce’s yelling. 

“Oh, stop being dramatic, Bruce. You sound like I’m tryin’ to kill you or something. If you keep this up, I’ll give you extras, you know?” 

Bruce’s face burned with Jerome’s words. He hated being talked down to. How dare Jerome treat him like this! His feet dug desperately into the bed, pushing against the mattress and running in place to try and squirm forward. Jerome huffed at the antics. Then, grumbling under his breath, Jerome lifted his knee and began smacking relentlessly at Bruce’s sit spots. The boy immediately began to yelp and groan. “Ah! Stop! Stop!” 

After fifteen—Bruce was sure it had been more—Jerome dropped his knee and placed his hand on Bruce’s backside, giving a squeeze as he leaned down towards the boy’s face. “If you kick anymore, I’m going to spend the rest of this hour seeing if I can break skin with a wooden spoon!” He snarled, fingers groping warm skin until Bruce whined. “Hear me? Hey! Do you hear me?” He smacked Bruce lightly, and the teen whimpered all the same. “Answer me!” 

“Yes! I hear you.” The words came out shakier than before, and Bruce realized he could already feel tears filling up the corners of his eyes. He let out a trembling breath and buried his face into Jerome’s bed, his legs slumping sullenly. It wasn’t like him to give into tears so easily, but these were tears of frustration and anger more than of pain. He swallowed hard. 

The criminal sat back up, grip loosening on Bruce’s ass. “Good boy.” Jerome’s hand gave a pat, as if to be affectionate. “You be still. You’ve earned every single second of this, Bruce!” 

“I didn’t do anything,” Bruce said into the bed, his voice coming out just as sullen as the rest of his movements. 

Jerome laughed, rubbing the sore skin in another mock of sympathy. Even so, the rubbing soothed the burning skin just a little. “Didn’t do anything? You’re telling me you haven’t done anything all week to warrant an ass beating? Hm? I’d bet I could ask that butler of yours and he’d tell me differently!” Bruce only groaned a response, and Jerome took that as a cue to begin again. 

This time, Bruce was much more still. He jumped and squirmed, but only as much as would have been expected of him. He kept his legs still, for the most part. They twitched and jerked but didn’t kick or flail. Bruce made small grunts and whimpers into the bed, body tensing up the more it went on. Jerome was making quick work of Bruce’s spanking, as the minutes ticked by and Bruce felt less and less in control of himself. 

It occurred to him, after several more minutes of feeling like his skin was being set on fire, that it was around this time that Jerome had given him a time out. And yet the ginger did not stop, didn’t even pause, as he continued on the same path. Why wasn’t Jerome stopping? Wasn’t he going to give him a break this time? “Jer—Jerome,” he mumbled, still pressed against the bed, “Jerome, wait. Wait!” 

Bruce suddenly began to wiggle once more. It seemed to surprise the ginger who had nearly been in a trance during his work. It surprised Jerome enough that the ginger stopped hitting him and laid his hand back on Bruce’s bottom. A deep sigh resonated through the clown. “What is it, boy?” 

A lingering silence filled the room. Bruce lifted his head, propping his chin onto the top. His face was warm and red. Now that he had Jerome’s attention, he wasn’t sure how to go about the subject at all. “You—You stopped last time,” he said, cursing his stutter. 

“I what?” Jerome demanded, speaking loudly. “Speak up, Bruce. You’re mumbling.” 

“You stopped last time,” the teen repeated, “You made me stand in the corner.” 

There was a short pause from the ginger. And then, “I suppose I did. But I don’t think you need a time out, Brucie. No, not this time. All you need is a nice, long spanking.” He patted Bruce on the bottom in affection and the teen began to shake. 

“N—No! No, please. It hurts. I don’t—You gave me fifteen minutes last time, and I—“ 

“Shh,” the clown cooed, smoothing his hand up and down Bruce’s ass. The boy’s voice had begun to waver: a sign of tears to come. “I know what I did last time,” he whispered, and Bruce couldn’t help but think the criminal was trying to make himself sound gentle. “But that was a different day. I never said we’d do the exact same thing every day. You don’t need a time out this time. You already know what we’re doing. This time, I think you need your spanking. This will be over a lot faster if you just let me give you what you need.” 

Bruce blinked rapidly to remove the moisture from his eyes. He sniffed and Jerome leaned down again, pressing rough lips to the back of his neck. “Now, if you let me finish up here, we’ll finish up your sit spots and move on to the spoon. Then we’re all done! But ‘till then, you don’t get to stand and you don’t get a break.” 

His words were firm and Bruce let out the first telltale sign of a sob just from hearing it. Jerome started again like it was nothing, and Bruce quickly buried his face back down to muffle his whines. Jerome didn’t spend much longer with this. When Bruce began to sniff and gasp, he seemed to change his pace. Bruce wondered if he was trying to get done before Bruce broke down. 

True to his word, within a few more minutes, Jerome wordlessly lifted his knee and began to spank his under curve again. Bruce yelped and jumped, first few tears slipping out as Jerome spent time on every spot of skin. He seemed to want to make sure everything was perfectly unbearable, and Bruce could hear him mumble under his breath as it went on. When Jerome’s hand finally stilled, Bruce knew better than to be glad. He knew what was coming next, even before Jerome began to dig under his bed. 

“N—No! Jerome, please, no. I won’t yell anymore, I promise! Don’t!” Bruce began to squirm again, head turned to watch as Jerome procured the long handled spoon and patted it against Bruce’s sore ass. The teen’s eyes already began to spill over with tears. “Please! I won’t fight anymore. Don’t!” 

“I wish I could believe that, baby boy, I do. But I think I know my boy, and I know you’d do just about anything to worm your way out of this. I know. You don’t like it. This one hurts real bad.” Jerome pouted, making his voice sound just as sad as Bruce’s. “This is for your own good, though. Daddy knows best, eh? Put your head back in the mattress.” 

A soft sob fell out of Bruce’s mouth before he turned and buried his face into the bed once more. He could hardly hear Jerome say, “Good boy,” over his sniffling, but he certainly heard the first crack of the ladle against his bottom. Bruce wailed. The next few cracks caused nothing short of screams to climb from his throat. He thrashed a few more times, instantly going back to kicking. This did not last long, however. After only a handful of swats, Bruce slumped onto the bed once more and began to sob violently into the bed. 

Jerome easily went over Bruce’s bottom, covering all the way down to his mid thighs before he set the spoon down again. Bruce hardly knew when he had quit. He wouldn’t have noticed at all had he not felt Jerome let go of his arms and instead begin to run his hands up and down Bruce’s waist. “What a good baby,” the criminal crooned, “That’s it. You’re all done now.” 

Bruce cried against the sheets without looking up. He wanted to go home. He wanted to curl up in his study and sleep, or perhaps read. He wanted to be somewhere away from Jerome. However, the ginger seemed to have other plans. Bruce felt fingertips slipping beneath Bruce’s stomach, guiding him to sit up. Bruce had no sooner lifted his shaking body that Jerome’s arms had slipped around him, tugging him into his lap with ease. Bruce whimpered a quiet, “no.” It was soon followed by a hiss; Jerome sat him down on his lap and the feeling was agony. Jerome’s permanent smile seemed to widen, but he slid his knees apart slightly so that Bruce’s bottom sunk between them, untouched. 

“Let go,” the billionaire cried, trying to pull away without any use. 

Jerome pulled him in close, cupping the back of his head and holding it to his neck. “Hush now. Pretty boy, look at you. All worked up over a spanking. I used to have to get lots of these too, you know? Shh, Bruce. Stay right there.” 

Bruce didn’t want to think about what Jerome might have endured at home. Was it any wonder he thought of this as just a ‘ spanking ‘? Bruce sniffed, reached up, and roughly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Jerome cradled him. He sat there for nearly ten minutes. Bruce tried to stand up, but was held back by the criminal. His hair was petted. Jerome rocked him. He nearly fell asleep, when Jerome gave a low hum and said, “Time’s up, Brucie. Up you go.” 

Standing on shaky legs, Bruce wordlessly grabbed at his clothes and pulled them back on. He could feel Jerome’s eyes staring into him, and wondered if the ginger was eyeing his red eyes or his red bottom. At any rate, Jerome stood with Bruce and walked, bounce in his step, to the door. He knocked, the door opened, and Bruce was released again.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce attempts to get out of his punishment in a new way. It backfires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now a chapter for here too! This one is a pretty long chapter, so I hope you like it. Special thanks to Seraphina who gave me the idea about the soap bar! If any of you have certain ideas, comment them and maybe I’ll add them!

To say the week had been eventful would have been a harsh understatement. To begin with: Bruce had found some very interesting tidbits about Oswald Cobblepot. Having found the license for crime, Bruce was shocked to learn that not only was this permitted, but accepted by the officials! The only person who seemed entirely unconvinced with the situation was Jim himself, and he was having to fight the rest of the police department. Remarkable! And horrible. 

The next thing to do had been hectic. He had not only went to Penguin’s party, but had acted as friend almost! It wasn’t entirely a lie; Bruce did think that there were some good qualities to Oswald. Nothing, however, excused those licenses. 

He had gotten the information he needed and even gotten the books he had wanted. Bruce Wayne had been busy, and there was little time for anything else. That next meeting with Jerome had been just as brutal as the last. The clown seemed to delight in making sure Bruce cried on him like a child. What was more, he seemed to like treating Bruce like a child. Jerome had taken to babying him while spanking him. Bruce was unenthused. 

It was a cycle he was becoming used to, though. Each started the same. Across Jerome’s knee, he would be beaten until he went from thrashing and yelling to whimpering and squirming. After Jerome was satisfied, he’d move on to the soft spots. And after that, it was the same process with the spoon. Bruce had noticed that Jerome seemed to gauge Bruce’s reactions to ensure he knew how much more the billionaire would take before going into a meltdown. Unless he wanted Bruce to start bawling on him too early, he had to time everything well. And there was no stopping until Bruce sank down and began to weep. 

Really, it was quite calculated for someone like Jerome. 

Finally, Bruce had learned something else: Ra’s al Ghul was searching for a blade. This blade seemed very important to Bruce and it made sense to get his hands on it. Easily enough done with Alfred’s advice. To become a billionaire brat! It wasn’t hard. As Alfred said, it was a part he was born to play. The very next day, Bruce saw the very title on the front of the newspaper! Billionaire Brat Bruce Wayne Goes On A Spending Spree At Penguin’s Auction! 

It would have amused him on any other day. Unfortunately, today happened to be Wednesday. 

And so, the knife safely hidden at Wayne Manor, Bruce once more made his way to Arkham Asylum for what he knew would be another trip over Jerome Valeska’s knee. 

The clown was waiting for him, of course. What surprised Bruce, however, was the fact that Jerome was reading the newspaper. He sat poised on his bed with the paper in hand, reading the article about Bruce’s escapades. 

“Billionaire Brat,” Jerome mused, not lifting his eyes from the paper, “would you like to explain yourself, young man?” 

Bruce froze as he heard the door lock behind him. Was Jerome serious? Then again, Bruce assumed he was. After all, Jerome had no idea about Ra’s or the knife! So to him, it looked just as it did to the others: a rich boy on a spending spree. Bruce decided to keep it like that. 

“No,” he answered. 

“No,” Jerome repeated, lowering the paper. He studied Bruce, but the billionaire was sure he was just putting on a show as he did everything else. “Funny, kiddo! I figured the weekly paddling would make you a little less bratty. Here you are, though, actin’ worse than ever.” He sucked on his teeth and made a disapproving sound. “Baby, you acting out for me?” 

Bruce felt a pang of impatience. This was their fourth meeting and Bruce wanted to get the hour over. His eyes narrowed. “I’m not playing along if that’s what you think,” he barked. “I just... I had nothing better to do. Besides, I happen to like art and everything I bought was pretty tasteful.” 

He saw Jerome’s eyes roll and suddenly felt a little nervous. He looked very displeased with Bruce’s behavior, and Bruce was a little afraid he would use these brat escapades as an excuse to spank him all the more. As if their current rate wasn’t enough. 

“Get over here, boy,” Jerome said, putting the paper down and moving forward enough that Bruce could easily lay across his lap. Bruce pressed his lips into a fine line but walked the distance anyway. Last week, Bruce made another attempt at fighting Jerome off. The clown had not been pleased at all, and had given him extras for it. One time is one thing, Jerome had said, but last time you made a promise, huh? No more running! And here you are, trying to fight me again! That’s more than enough reason for a few extras today, I think. 

It had been enough that Bruce had no desire to try and fist fight again. He shuffled to Jerome while trying to hold as much of his dignity as he could, which was hard given the circumstances. He stood in front of Jerome and looked at him. 

The clown’s copper brows lifted expectantly. He gave his thighs a pat, signaling he wanted Bruce to put himself there this time. Bruce’s face flushed into a shade of crimson with ease. He supposed that he should have just done it, but found he could not make himself lay down willingly. Finally, he gave a little shake of the head. 

“Ah, Brucie,” Jerome muttered, reaching up to tug the boy across his knees. “One of these days, maybe.” 

At the very least, Bruce did not try to fight Jerome when he adjusted him across his lap. He didn’t even argue when Jerome pulled his pants down to his ankles. He merely groaned at being left bare for Jerome. In truth, Bruce was feeling especially sullen. 

“I don’t want to see any hard kicks today, Bruce,” Jerome stated, making his raspy voice sound as authoritative as he could. “Understand? Hey!” He gave Bruce a warning smack. “Understand?” 

“I understand!” Bruce huffed, wiggling his hips as if to try and gain some semblance of comfort. He was in no mood for a spanking today. He had better things to do! He had to prepare for the Demon’s Head! 

All thought of demons and knives went out the door at the first several smacks to his rear. Bruce jumped and grunted, legs twitching but never thrashing. Jerome didn’t hesitate to begin in earnest. Within a few moments, Bruce’s skin went from pale to a dazzling pink. He could feel the sting already building up. 

“Up all night at a crime lord’s auction!” Jerome spoke in a scolding tone, taking great care to make sure Bruce felt nothing short of agony even so early in the session. Ah, so Bruce was right and Jerome did intend to use his antics from last night as an excuse to hit him. Bruce sucked in his cheeks and pressed his lips together to stifle the groans. “Making a spectacle of yourself!” Bruce felt himself growing enraged. He wanted to taunt Jerome that it was a wonder he even knew the word spectacle. He wanted to fight. He wanted to do anything except for lie there and take it! 

A thought occurred to him suddenly. Jerome usually kept it up until Bruce had had all that he could take! Until he was a mess of tears! Perhaps if Bruce had his fit early, Jerome would see it to himself that he let him go. After all, Jerome always stopped after Bruce broke down. Perhaps Bruce should break down. 

His bottom was already burning severely. Jerome hadn’t paused slightly since he had begun. In fact, he had been spanking and scolding him this entire time! He was growling and muttering to Bruce while peppering him with smacks. 

“You’ve been a busy little boy, huh? Thought you could go out and get into all kinds of trouble and Daddy wouldn’t say anything? Hmm?” He slapped Bruce a little harder than before and the boy squeaked. 

Yes. Now was the time to play along and hope to get out of it. 

“I didn’t! I didn’t!” Bruce’s voice came out in a little whimper. He was careful to make his tone sound as petulant as possible. He wanted to sound pitiful. It evidently worked, because Jerome’s hand seemed to pause for a second in surprise. A moment later, he smacked him again. Bruce swallowed hard and spoke again, “I wasn’t doing it for trouble!”

Luckily, Bruce’s breath was already quite ragged from the exertion and tension that came with the spanking. He sounded meek. He sounded exactly like the little boy Jerome tried to treat him as. 

Once again, it seemed to surprise the ginger, who shifted a bit. He paused what he was doing and laid his hand on Bruce’s bottom as he often did during his pauses to speak. “Yeah? What do you call all that talk in the papers, huh?” 

Bruce sniffled. Perhaps this acting and masking thing wasn’t as hard as he assumed. He was getting quite good at it. “I just got excited. I didn’t mean anything by it! I’m sorry!” He shifted a little and Jerome swatted him for it. The boy yelped. “Please! Please! I didn’t mean anything by it!” 

Jerome’s hand rubbed up and down Bruce’s bottom with surprising tenderness. The teen sniffed again and let out a small whimper. His face was carefully hidden in Jerome’s bed. “Look at you,” Jerome said with a sigh, “I think someone’s a little tuckered out today. You stay out late last night, baby boy? You’re not usually this torn up.” Bruce resisted the urge to tense up. Was Jerome catching on? He gave a meager shake of his head in response. 

Jerome clicked his tongue. He gave Bruce’s backside a firm tap. “Just be still, Bruce. I told you, you earned this one.” With that, he went back to the same rhythm as before. Bruce hardly had to act to whine and whimper for him. He was just biding his time now. He didn’t want to sob too soon. It had to be believable! 

Within a few more minutes, Bruce decided it was time. He wanted to start before Jerome took to the more sensitive spots. Feeling a particularly harsh smack, Bruce let out a sharp whine and buried his face down. 

His shoulders shook with sobs. The suddenness of the meltdown shocked Jerome, whose hand stilled. For a moment, Jerome said nothing. Bruce cried heavily into the bed. It must have been working! Jerome had slowed down! He’d stopped. 

And then the clown let out a low sound. Bruce’s tears faltered for a second. 

“Brucie,” Jerome crooned, suddenly beginning to stroke his side. Bruce felt that there was something dangerous in Jerome then. Even as Jerome spoke with a voice that sounded downright amused and lighthearted, Bruce felt the undertones of danger. “Brucie,” he said again, “Are you trying to get me to let you up early?” 

“Wh—What?” Bruce squeaked, voice now quaking. “No. No! No, Jerome—“ 

“Ohh, baby boy,” the clown whispered, laughter still in his voice as he suddenly tightened his grip on Bruce’s arms. The boy began to fidget out of fear. “That’s a good try, Bruce. You gave it a good try. But I’m not so convinced. Sneaky little brat!” 

He gave Bruce a hard slap on the bottom. Bruce yelped and squirmed on impact. He was sure all the color had drained from his face. “No. Jerome, it’s not—It’s not like that. Please!” 

“You’re getting it today, Bruce.” The promise alone could have made Bruce really cry itself. Jerome leaning over to dig for his spoon, however, really sealed the deal. “I think you need an extra dose of the spoon today! You can take that the rest of the hour.” 

Bruce had begun to thrash before Jerome had even tugged it out from under the mattress. He was shouting already. “No! No! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please, I’ll be good! Don’t do it, Jerome. Don’t!” There was a plea in his voice as he felt Jerome pull him in closer. His legs kicked in hopes of knocking the ladle as far away from him as possible. “Don’t do it! Don’t!” 

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” the clown chimed, not sounding the least bit sorry, “But next time, don’t try to trick me. Sorry. Sorry little boy, indeed!” He laid the spoon against Bruce’s bottom and Bruce wailed before it had even hit him. “You’re getting the rest of the hour with it. Maybe then you’ll learn.” 

Without another word, Jerome began to paddle him. Bruce’s voice reached a sharp, piercing cry within the first five. If he had been pretending to cry earlier, now was certainly the real thing. He shrieked into the pillow and began drumming his feet into the mattress. His body writhed back and forth and each cry bounced across the walls and came back to him just in time for the next whack. By fifteen, he had screamed until he felt his throat beginning to burn. Jerome seemed to notice. 

“Hush, Bruce!” The words came out in a scolding tone and he smacked the teen’s thighs—first the right, then the left—in quick succession. “You’re gonna make yourself sick and I’m not letting you go just for it!” Saying so, he let the makeshift paddle climb its way back up from Bruce’s thighs to his bottom, where it bounced from cheek to cheek without pause. 

“Jerome! Jerome! I’m sorry! Please stop it!” He wept into the mattress. Truth be told, half the reason for his tears now was plain and simple fear. They hadn’t been going very long before Bruce’s attempt to get himself off the hook, which meant they had a long while to go. If Jerome really meant what he said, he’d be spanking Bruce with that spoon the rest of the hour! Bruce wasn’t sure he could handle it. 

“I know you’re sorry, Bruce! Sorry for getting caught, eh?” The spoon continued on its path, leaving no spot untouched. Bruce cried out miserably and shook his head. 

“I’ll be good! I mean it! Please, please stop!” Bruce felt ridiculous. To be made to cry and beg like this should have been beneath him. For the clown to do it like this was worse. “Please, I won’t do it again!” 

“That’s what you said about trying to fight me off, and look where that got you!” Jerome laughed. He had begun making a full circle starting at the top of Bruce’s left cheek, going all the way down to his thigh, and then climbing up the right cheek. Bruce was sobbing. 

“Jerome! It’s not—Please! Let me go! Let go!” His throat was sore from screaming. “Please!” 

“I said no, Bruce,” Jerome snapped, sounding a bit more forceful this time. “You earned every bit, baby boy. Daddy’s got you now. You’re not going anywhere. Now hush! Before that pretty voice of yours runs out.” 

Bruce felt his face go crimson. Whether that was because he was wearing himself out, embarrassment, or rage was unsure. But Bruce felt himself get angry once again. He didn’t have time for a spanking! He had to go work! 

He hardly knew when he started swearing. But he began swearing loudly, kicking his legs and screaming at Jerome. Living with someone who used to be a British soldier coupled with spending a lot of time with Selina on the streets had given Bruce an extensive vocabulary, and so he swore. If it shocked Jerome, he didn’t show it. He continued on his path up and down the way he’d been doing, and Bruce screamed until he couldn’t anymore. 

Finally, he fell into the bed and sobbed. This was the true meltdown he had been attempting to mirror. His entire body shook with his sobs. Jerome gave him one more smack and then set the spoon down. 

“Up,” he said, and lifted Bruce to his feet. 

This was new. Bruce was not used to being made to stand so quickly. He felt dizzy, and he stumbled forward on wobbly legs. Jerome caught him. “Come on, little boy. Up you go. You need a time out, I think.” Before Bruce could respond, Jerome had him hugged against his side and was walking him to the corner. He stood him in front of the corner. “You stand here, Brucie. Stay right here.” Bruce let out a little sob that shook him. Jerome responded by giving his shoulder a pat. “Breathe, kiddo. Good boy. Stand still now.” 

Bruce stared at the wall and tried to slow his breathing. He could hear Jerome go to the door. There were two knocks, and then the door opened. Bruce could hear Jerome say something but he couldn’t tell what he had said. He heard the door shut. 

It was five minutes before there was another knock and the door opened. Within that five minutes, Bruce had managed to stop sobbing and calmed his breathing down. He heard Jerome say something to the guard and the door shut. Footsteps came toward Bruce again. “C’mere, baby.” 

Bruce turned slowly to see what Jerome wanted. The ginger was standing there with what appeared to Bruce to be a rather sudsy bar of soap and a cup of water. 

“What... What are you doing?” Bruce whispered. His voice was quivering and hoarse from his crying. 

“You’ve been especially bratty today, Bruce,” the clown answered, “trying to get out of your spanking early, throwing a tantrum, and all that cussing, too! You’re getting your mouth washed out.” 

“What? No! Jerome, no!” Bruce let out a whimper and sank backwards into the corner. His bare bottom pressed against the cold wall and he winced. 

“Ah, ah!” Jerome made a grab for him and pulled him back. Bruce’s form bumped against Jerome’s chest and the clown wrapped an arm around him to keep him still. “No arguing, Bruce. I don’t want to hear it. Now, come here! Open your mouth.” 

Bruce’s mouth clamped shut. He felt fresh tears prick the corners of his eyes and shook his head. His lip quivered as Jerome took him by the back of the head and held him. He held the soap bar close to his mouth. 

“Bruce, I told you, I don’t want any arguments. Daddy’s had more than enough of you throwing fits today! Do you want to open wide, or do you want to go back to the spoon?” 

The boy’s eyes went wide as saucers at that. Jerome’s face stayed as stern as it could in that elongated way. Bruce sniffed. His bottom lip trembled as he opened his mouth for Jerome. The clown clamped his hand on the back of Bruce’s head and pushed the soap bar into his mouth. 

Bruce’s eyes watered. He let out a whine of disgust as Jerome not only popped the soap bar into his mouth but then began using it to scrub. Instinctively, Bruce tried pulling free. Jerome clicked his tongue. “Stay still, little boy. That’s it. Atta boy.” 

After a minute of washing Bruce’s mouth, Jerome released the soap. Bruce reached up to grab it, but his hands were swatted back down. “Ten minutes. Face the wall.” Bruce stared in shock and made a sound of argument but Jerome merely turned him back towards the corner and gave him a smack on the rear. “Ten minutes. Don’t you move, Bruce.”

The ginger gave him a pat on the head and then strode back to his bed. Bruce thought he heard him pick up his paper. His hands clenched at his sides at the indignation of it all! This session had not at all gone according to plan. Bruce stared at the wall in fury, the soap leaving a disgusting, slimy taste in his mouth. How could Jerome do this to him so easily! What made his brain come up with it? He lifted his hand and wiped away fresh tears. He didn’t think he’d ever been so humiliated. How could Jerome do this! 

Ten minutes went by at a painstakingly slow pace. It felt like twice that before Jerome said, “Come on over, Bruce.” 

For once, Bruce was quick to head back to Jerome. The bar of soap was still hanging out of his mouth. Jerome held out his hand and Bruce dropped it there with a sour expression. Jerome handed him the water. “Wash it out.” 

Bruce had never been so glad for water. It hardly removed the taste, but at least his mouth didn’t feel so sudsy. He had no sooner spat the water back into the cup that Jerome had gotten hold of him and pulled him into his lap. Bruce hissed at the sensation sitting down caused, but Jerome didn’t attempt to relieve him. Bruce squirmed. 

“Be still. What’d we learn today, Bruce?” Jerome held onto Bruce the same way one would hold onto a wiggling toddler. Bruce shifted from side to side to try and relieve the weight on a very sore bottom. “Hey! Bruce, answer the question.” 

He wanted up. At this point, he’d say anything! “Don’t pretend so I can get out of a punishment! Don’t throw tantrums—Ah! Don’t swear at you!” 

Jerome grinned. It was a sleazy sort of grin. He pulled Bruce in and gave him a loud kiss on the forehead. “That’s my good boy. Next time you’ll behave for Daddy, won’t you? Hmm?” Whimpering, Bruce nodded his head. Feeling entirely embarrassed, he hid his face close to Jerome’s neck. “Good. Come on, baby boy. It’s time for you to go. Remember, now: if you misbehave like that in public again, I’ll know.”


End file.
